


Island of Misfit Stories

by Ithilas



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Execution, Family, Gen, Ghosts, Implied Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 20:30:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithilas/pseuds/Ithilas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Transformers one shots gathered up in one post.  Odds and ends that begged to be written but in the end had no place to go.  First up is Mother : Because all children need their mother at some point and a near death experience involving a genocidal alien would be enough to cause even a teenager to want their mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mother

She couldn't protect him anymore.

 

Sharp brown eyes darted across the battered lanky frame that belonged to her only child before Judy's breath caught in her throat as she met eyes that seemed to have aged decades in the hours since she'd last seen them. Where had the eyes filled with such simple wonder at the world around him gone? Pursing her lips together tightly as she shook off the restraining hand Ron had on her elbow, Judy pushed her way through the people standing between a mother and her child.

 

And then—and then she was standing in front of him. Trembling hands reaching forward to cup bruised and scraped cheeks in a gentle grip known from earliest childhood. Arching her fingertips as she grazed the worst of the scrapes, Judy looked up in mild concern at the sharp intake of breath. Pulling back to watch as nervous eyes darted around the room she wondered where she'd been that she hadn't prevented such a look of hunted terror from entering her child's eyes.

 

Wistful, slow and full of a remorse that threaded through her heart like a silken thread, Judy pulled her son's head to rest in the slender curve of her neck. Wrapping her arms around him tightly as she ignored the tickle of fine brown hair against her nose, she waited patiently for the small tremors she knew were coming. Forcing her breath to remain steady even as her son's became ragged and she felt the prickling of tears in harmony with the first of the burning droplets of water that landed on her borrowed shirt.

 

Watery eyes gazing fiercely around the room, Judy quelled the urge to smirk in smug satisfaction as more than one gaze was hastily averted. She couldn't stop the fear that she knew would stalk her son's dreams with all the finesse of a predator created by nature but she could soothe it. She wasn't able to prevent the bruises and cuts that marred the pale skin of her child but damned if she couldn't heal it with time and patience. There was so much; so very, very much that she couldn't do but she  _could_  stand there with the open arms her child needed so very much. And standing there with her son's muffled sobs tearing at her with all the vicious nature of the metal bastard that had caused all the hurt, Judy smiled sadly as she whispered a constant litany of soothing nonsense.


	2. He Wasn't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were so many things that he wasn't but all of those things made him who he was.

He wasn't one of the popular kids instead he was the loner standing off to the side with his best friend since kindergarten making stupid jokes that caused brown eyes to light up with mirth. He certainly wasn't one of the athletic kids who excelled in their chosen sport but not for a lack of trying since he knew that it was better to try and fail than to live with the regret of never having taken the chance. He definitely wasn't one of the PAC kids who took delight in seeing the beauty around them whether it was through music, art or acting, no—no he was the one with the look of confusion on his face as he pointed out that the ordinary was just as beautiful as the extraordinary.

 

He didn't care about the things that set him apart because he concentrated on the things that made him a part of a whole. He refused to count the failures because hidden within the failures was the victory of having tried. He knew that there was beauty in the world but found he couldn't see it through the brilliance of the whole. There weren't any groups to worry about or any trends that he needed to follow to become a part of them because he already had what he'd been waiting for.

 

He had friends that didn't care if he said the stupidest thing at the worst time; not when he also knew what to say when no one else did. He had a group that disregarded his lack of physical fitness because he'd proven himself when it mattered most. He had a family that laughed at his inability to carry a tune and grinned as he practiced his painting skills on the unwary and sat down with him to admire the world around them.

 

So he wasn't popular. He sure as hell wasn't athletic. And most definitely couldn't draw a stick picture or play an instrument to save his life but—

—he had friends that would walk through hell with him. He had friends that would give him the encouragement he needed to run. And he had family that would stand by and hold his hand as he tried to paint the world with the colors that only he could see.


	3. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd thought he would be fine. Had thought that there would be no problem with his ability to handle the situation he'd found himself in.

It wasn't normal, he knew. How could he not when he knew about the whispered conversations between his parents while he was supposed to be safely tucked away upstairs deeply within the realms of sleep. So when the talks turned to thoughts of therapy he did as his friends advised and tucked them away from the eyes and ears of those that couldn't see them. He learned to smile convincingly even as he wanted to scream with the injustice of it all while his parents exchanged looks of relief over the departure of his 'imaginary' friends.

 

At night as he lay curled within the massive lap of the oldest of his friends, he would bite his lip and cry out the feelings of bitterness and frustration that pooled inside of him throughout his deception. A deception that was all too necessary because even if he didn't understand the reasons behind it, his friends did. His friends knew all too well the dangers that awaited him if he didn't learn to smile even as the sour taste of lies tainted his mouth.

 

But he grew and as he grew, he began to understand all of the reasons that a child's mind couldn't. He had only to look at his best friend to see how eccentricity was treated and knew with a sense of absolute certainty that left a sickening twist in his stomach that his friends had been right.

 

There are so many ways of telling yourself that you're fine even when you're not. Ways to convince yourself that you won't break even as the cracks become apparent to all those around you. So many words, thoughts and actions that could be used as shields against the all too ugly truth that threatened to break you in a way you'd never thought possible. And yet, no matter how many times it is ignored, pushed away or stuffed into some obscure portion of the mind—it refuses to allow itself to be forgotten. Refusing to fall into the grim depths of insignificance as it forces its way through dozens of barriers and traps meant to keep it contained.

 

He'd thought he would be fine. Had thought that there would be no problem with his ability to handle the situation he'd found himself in. But as he found himself clutching at the yellowing brittleness of fall grass he laughed mirthlessly, his breath catching in his throat alongside of the hardened lump of emotion forming there.


	4. Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn't say when he'd first noticed him or maybe it had been that he'd seemed to insert himself into his life so naturally that he hadn't given thought to the fact it hadn't always been like this.

He couldn't say when he'd first noticed him or maybe it had been that he'd seemed to insert himself into his life so naturally that he hadn't given thought to the fact that he wasn't. He could remember the instant that he realized no one but him could see his guardian. His eyes had widened in terror as his parents voices had echoed from inside the house and his head had swiveled of its own accord while dry lips opened when the sounds of footsteps carrying along the grass reached his ears. Sweat beginning to bead on his forehead as he licked his lips nervously, his gaze darted between the figures of his parents and the familiar frame of his ever-present guardian. Like a nervous dog waiting to be scolded by his owners for peeing on the carpet, his shoulders had hunched slightly forward and his face had developed that nervous tick he'd had since falling off a building with a metal cube cradled in his arms like the world's weirdest egg cradle experiment.

 

"Sam. Honey, are you okay?" A person would think that with the number of nights spent talking instead of sleeping in preparation to attend school the next morning that his guardian would have seen fit to inform him that he wasn't exactly visible to anyone else. A person would also be inclined to think that his guardian would be doing something other than leaning against his house laughing while a blue visor flashed merrily at him in the sun.

 

"I'm fine mom, just hot. You know cause it's so hot out here. So it's probably just the heat that's making me tired or something." Sam babbled with as earnest a tone as he could muster while resisting the urge to glare at his so called guardian who was now laughing with a slightly hysterical edge to it. "I'll just—I'll just go wait for Bee inside, okay?"


	5. Rosy View - Prowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus refuses to allow things to end the way he thinks they will. He doesn't care what Prowl says or thinks because in the end what he's doing is the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the story is in the end notes.

It has never failed to both amuse and confound me that so many would question my choice for the position of Second in Command of the Autobot forces. It can be said that Prowl is an intensely reserved person whose reservation can and have at times been mistaken for arrogance but only by those that do not have the honor of truly knowing and understanding him. Those that are and were most vocal in their opposition of his appointment were those that would never and still to this day, have not been graced with the level of absolute trust that is required before he will allow his defenses to fall.

 

If I truly believed him to the sort of mech that others paint him to be then there would have been no force within either the Well of Allsparks or the Pit that could have moved me into appointing him as my Second. While I was not always the Prime of Cybertron, I have come to learn much in the time that has passed since my days as a simple dock worker. Even then, Prowl's station was far above my own and in the time that he was required to stand in the shadows behind me with an optic on my every movement and word, not once did he disparage my attempts or seek to make a mockery of me.

 

So many are willing to forget his actions that show him capable of more than just the cold-sparked tactics that have garnered him the reputation of being a tactical mind greater than even the greatest of minds Megatron has gathered in his pursuit of conquest. Three vorns it took me to gain his total and absolute loyalty and then I was only made aware of it during a rally where if things had happened differently then I would not have been here to even write this. Before my own bodyguards noticed the threat, Prowl was already in the process of pulling me backwards and behind the protection that his own frame could offer.

 

If those are the actions of a true cold-spark drone, then I find myself wondering what emotional protocols truly are. A deca-cycle passed before Ratchet could tell me with any certainty that our Second in Command would even survive the injuries that would have left me deactivated had they been allowed to go unhindered. Afterwards, I found myself wondering at his actions and eventually garnered the courage to ask. His answer?

 

'If Cybertron is to have any hope of one day being free from the shadows that this war has cast upon us then Cybertron will need you there to guide them. I plan, plot and spend my days ensuring that a few will die instead of all. There is a greater need for you than me, Optimus. You are their hope and mine as well.'

 

To this day, I still do not know what it is that inspired such loyalty in him that would have moved him into the actions that he took. Unfortunately, I know him well enough to know that loyalty aside he would deactivate me himself if he were to know that I was even considering the thought of writing this. And to be honest, I do not care. I won't allow such a mech to be disparaged by history because of what others perceived but did not know. I won't allow such a mech to be reviled for actions that he undertook so as to keep me from having to do so. There is so much that he has done and it has all been in the dream of a Cybertron without the taint of corruption that lead to Megatron's call to arms.

 

Prowl is who he is and I won't make excuses for his character because there is no reason for me to do so. He is the mech who created a virus that closed down my office after a certain hour in an attempt to force me into recharge at what he deemed a reasonable hour. His reasoning for this being that he was infinitely more suited to the desk work that came with running an army while I was happier and much more useful in both battle and training. When it became apparent after accepting the Matrix that I held no knowledge for self-defense it was he who took the time to instruct me in the art of Diffusion. So many forget that but I don't.

 

My Second is a mech that I would, have and will continue to trust with the responsibility of my continued existence. It can be assured that if I were to fall in battle that Prowl will have fallen first because no matter the nature and vehemence of my objections I know that he will always place my own life ahead of his in terms of priority. You may read this and think of the mech who calmly ordered the withdrawal of troops from Praxus but you do not know of the trembling mech who sat in his office for hours afterwards revisiting every moment of that decision.

 

In the event that this has not been in any way clear, allow me to simplify what it is that I wish to express: You do not know Prowl in the manner that you believe. In short, if this entry has been full of life-shattering revelations then clearly you were not honored to know the Prowl that I did. You didn't know the mech that has worked himself to the brink of stasis more times than I can count in the hopes that others would remain safe. You know nothing and I write this in the hopes that you will perchance understand him just a little bit more and will come to respect and even admire him in the ways that I do.

 

There has been no other mech who has sacrificed more in the pursuit of freedom than Prowl and it is my deepest honor to both know him and to have been his commanding officer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can consider this G1 with a bit of TFTM foreshadowing going on here. Oh and I've quite probably killed Optimus and Prowl by making them OOC.


	6. Living History Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Students became teachers, weak became strong and those who couldn't change fast enough were left behind.

We thought that we knew war. We really, truly and honestly thought that we had nearly scraped the bottommost surface of the tragedies and sadness that war brings in its wake. Instead we were forced to learn that we didn't really know much of anything. Even now, it's hard to look at those I knew before this all began. It's hard to look and remember who they used to be before we were forced to learn and grow sooner than we'd ever hoped or dreamed for. Students became teachers, weak became strong and those who couldn't change fast enough were left behind with only their screams in our nightmares to remind us of their life.

 

Everything's changed so much. Even the language that I grew up with is no longer the same. Instead it's become a hybridized mixture of two languages that were never meant to join in the way they have. Although I guess the same could be said for the people speaking the language. After all, who would have ever guessed that humans and giant alien robots could ever become allies in a war that we should never have held any part in. But I suppose my best friend had a point when he told me that it might be their war but it's our world and what were we supposed to do if we didn't fight for it?

 

He's an idiot and really it's a small miracle that he's even still alive but he's also an idiot that seems to have nearly the entire army protecting him. But I can guess I can see why everyone's like that when it comes to him. It seems like no matter how bad everything's gone, he still finds a way to smile for all of us when smiling seems like a dream of some unattainable goal. A blinding, brilliant smile even when he's covered in blood and energon with his own life resting in Ratchet's hands.

 

And sometimes… sometimes I want to scream and shake him until the smile drops away from his face and he lets some small bit of the horror that I know is in there, out. There's a reason that he's never alone, a reason that he never sleeps in a room by himself without the comforting presence of someone familiar and trusted near him. Smiling and laughing like he does comes with a price. A price that I wonder if it's truly worth what he brings to us but then I look around at the faces that are so weary but manage to liven up when the clear sounds of his laughter reverberates around a room.

 

I see it but in the middle of the night when the soft sounds of his tears break the quiet night I want nothing more than to break something. I want to break something because I knew, even back then, that he wasn't ever meant to be involved in anything like this. He was always meant to be the person who saw the light emanating from a darkness that seemed so impenetrable. Instead he's an engineer that's been taken as an apprentice to what must be the most explosion prone being I've ever had the misfortune to become acquainted with.

 

Wheeljack's a sweet mech, don't get me wrong. But there's just times that I wish he weren't so enthusiastic about things. Especially things that have the possibility of blowing up and taking half the base with it while my best friend ducks into the miniature bomb shelter that was built especially for him after his apprenticeship became official. Although I never would have thought I'd see the day where Wheeljack would be the one yelling at someone for connecting the wrong wires or for mixing certain chemicals just to see what they would do. The look on Ratchet's face when he walked in on that is something I'm sure a lot of people are going to take to their graves and probably into the Matrix if they can figure out a way to do it.

 

Maybe that's why he does it. He smiles so much to remind us that there's gonna be more than just the war. That there's more than the horrifying realizations that your best friend hasn't aged in the six years that have passed since the war began. And it's for his sake more than anyone else's that I hope we all live to see the war end. That we'll get the chance to rebuild our world while helping our friends rebuild theirs. But for now, Sam's mine and he'll be mine until that day comes.


	7. Twins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were really just children when it came down to it.

They were really just children when it came down to it, Reggie Simmons mused as he watched the two five year olds playing quietly with one another in the room that had been assigned to them. It was a miracle in and of itself that the children were even still capable of normal childlike actions. The both of them had been stolen from the hospital nurseries the night they were born, months apart from each other and yet in all of the time that they had spent under the careful watch of the government their interactions had always been as though they were twins.

 

The nights of their conceptions, the cube that had been dormant within the depths of the Hoover Dam had flared to life. A trace of the energy burst sent out by the cube had been tracked to the Witwicky's and the Banes'. Plans had been made when it became apparent that both women were pregnant. The night the children had been born, they'd taken readings off of the both of them. The results being higher than anything previously documented, well maybe with the exception of the Ice Man; but in all honesty, these were seemingly  _human_ children who bore no resemblance to the only conclusive proof their government had of life beyond their planet.

 

Sighing heavily as he watched the children communicate with each other in their own language that no else could understand or decipher (which firmly cemented his opinion that the two were somehow twins); Reggie wondered why he'd had to grow a conscience at this stage of his life. Five years ago, he'd been perfectly capable of following the orders given to him by his father about retrieving the children from the hospital, but now… but now he wondered if  _anyone_ had a right to have the children.

 

They were special; any member of Sector Seven could tell you that. But Reggie could see the almost  _alien_  mannerisms the pair seemed to have. To him this only emphasized the fact that the twins (and yes dammit, they  _had_  to be twins) were created from the cube that only seemed to react in the presence of the youngest twin, Sam. And probably had some kind of relatives in the form of others that had been created by the cube before them and would come looking for them once they figured out where the Ice Man was and that the twins were among them as well.

 

Reggie Simmons was not a stupid man. He understood all of this with the utmost clarity and that was what he blamed for the sudden reemergence of a conscience he'd thought long gone. He was the only one the oldest twin, Mikaela would allow near Sam. The girl was fiercely protective of the boy, a sentiment which seemed to be reciprocated but not to the extent that the girl was capable of, if the boy's general demeanor was any indication.

 

But together the pair seemed to fill in the weaknesses held by the other. Sam was quiet but sarcastic, small but extremely fast, and unmotivated but exceptionally intelligent. Mikaela was loud and brutally honest, tall but nowhere near as fast as her twin, intelligent but with a really bad habit of acting before thinking it out. When the twins were separated these traits of theirs were pushed into prominence, and while together their traits melded together and were tempered by the other.

 

Shaking his head as he rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily, Reggie looked back into the room where the twins were still babbling to each other, Sam beginning to look increasingly worried and his hands gesturing into the air wildly as he spoke. Idly he wondered what the twins were planning, and he knew they were planning something simply by the look Mikaela had on her face as she gently reached out and caught Sam's hands in her own. Whatever they were planning, Reggie decided as he turned around and began to walk away from the twins' room was better left unknown. But all the same he hoped that whatever it was… he hoped that they would escape and manage to stay hidden.

 

-:-.-:-

 

Padding down the hallways as quietly as they were capable of, two small forms darted in and out of the shadows that were so bountiful. Pausing briefly as they passed an open door, the smaller of the two figures tugged insistently on the clothing of the other.  **'Kaela, we can't leave it here. It has to come with us.'** The smaller figure told the other one in what sounded like a series of random clicking noises.

 

' **Sam.' Mikaela**  responded her face illuminated by the light coming through the open door, her brown eyes serious and regretful as they looked at the boy.  **'They'll know we're leaving if we do that.'**

 

' **Doesn't matter.'** Sam insisted his mouth set into a stubborn line as he crossed his arms over his chest.  **'Sparkcube's the only one who can help us find our parents. Don't you wanna know who they are at least? 'Sides Sparkcube's trapped here like we are. We can't just leave him here so that they can keep treating him like he's some kinda lab rat.'**

 

' **Sam…'** Mikaela started her eyes rising imploringly to the ceiling above at her twin's pleading blue eyes.  **'Fine, but then** _ **you**_ **gotta find a way for us to get out of here without getting caught.'**

 

' **Done.'**

 

' **Then let's get this over with.'** Mikaela muttered as she stepped out of the hallway and into the dimly lit room.  **'Just don't forget to tell Sparkcube to make himself smaller.'**

-:-.-:-

Bumblebee was tired; no maybe the better wording to use would be exhausted beyond all organic comprehension. He'd spent another exhausting day searching for the descendents of Captain Archibald Witwicky without success. Now all he wanted was a nice deserted place where he could fall into recharge for a few joors. Finding a suitable place for him to stop in, Bumblebee rolled to a stop and transformed before entering the dilapidated building. Starting his recharge program, Bumblebee's processor shuddered to a sudden halt as his optics took in the scene before him in stunned disbelief. Closing his recharge program he quickly rebooted his sensory systems, his Spark leaping painfully in its casing as he continued to stare unabashedly.

 

There lying on the dusty ground cuddled closely to each other, were the tiny forms of two sparklings deep in recharge. Honest to Primus sparklings. Sparklings that hadn't been seen since the war on Cybertron had begun and no one had been able to get the Allspark to release the created Sparks it held safe. He could remember when he was just a sparkling himself, hearing Ironhide, Prowl, Jazz and Optimus talking about the Allspark refusing to create any new sparklings, and how many were losing hope because of it.

 

And now on an organic planet nearly three galaxies away from his home, Bumblebee had found proof that the immature Sparks contained by the Allspark weren't lost. Sitting down on the floor near the recharging sparklings, Bumblebee leaned against the wall behind him and brought his recharge programs online again with the command settings for a light recharge, one that he could come out of the second his scanners registered the sparklings coming out of their own. His optics dimming, Bumblebee hummed happily to himself as his last sight was that of the smaller of the two sparklings scooting closer to the other one.

 

-:-.-:-

 

Sam turned over onto his side as his systems began the slow process of rebooting after waking from recharge. Blue optics coming back online, Sam felt his fuel pump begin beating erratically as he noticed the large yellow mech leaning against the wall opposite him and his twin. Shakily reaching behind him Sam poked the femme out of recharge, his optics fixed on the now vibrant optics staring at him in…wonder?

 

Rubbing at the thin chest plating shielding his Spark casing from view, the wary look in his optics diminished slightly at the soothing pulses coming from Sparkcube. Feeling his twin coming online as rapidly as she was able to speed her programs into doing, Sam laid a restraining hand on her tense arm as he spoke.  **'If he wanted to hurt us he would have already done it 'Kaela. I think he's just as surprised to see us as we are to see him.'**

 

' **Is he red or blue?'**  Mikaela asked her blue optics fixed unwaveringly on the other mech as she waited for her twin's reply.

 

' **Sparkcube says he's blue.'** Sam replied, his hand lifting to pull his visor down over his optics.  **'Sides look at his optics. His are just as blue as ours are. Plus he's got a different sigil from the others.'**

 

' **You're too trusting.'** Mikaela snapped as she eyed her twin.  **'One of these days some red's gonna rip your Spark out because I wasn't there to stop you from being a glitch-head.'**

 

' **Right.'** Sam scoffed as he elbowed his twin gently.  **'And you're a trigger-happy wannabe. We're still sparklings, even if Sparkcube advanced our processing capabilities. 'Sides we're gonna go back to being normal sparklings as soon as we meet our Creators. And I don't know about you, but I'd like to stay online long enough for that to happen.'**

 

' **So what?'** Mikaela asked as she stood offering a hand to her younger twin.  **'Are you saying we should just trust some strange mech? How do you know he'll even help us if he finds out that the reds are looking for us?'**

 

' **Because he will.'** Sam replied firmly, his hand grasping the offered help to stand.  **'His optics aren't full of lies and hate like the reds are. 'Sides we gotta trust someone eventually, so why not him?'**

 

' **I still think that your processor is malfunctioning.'** Mikaela grumbled half-heartedly as the twins moved to stand over the still seated unknown mech.  **'If you weren't so brilliant I'd have to wish I was Sparked alone.'**

 

' **So you love me for my mind?'** Sam teased, grinning unrepentantly when his sister turned a baleful glare on him.  **'I guess it's better than just being loved cause I'm beautiful.'**

 

' **I changed my mind.'** Mikaela deadpanned as she rolled her optics at her twin's antics.  **'I think I'm beginning to wish I was an only Spark.'**

 

' **But you are an only Spark. Sparkcube says we're a divided Spark, remember? You're just older than me because you got impatient and ran off without me.'**

 

Grabbing her twin's hand firmly with her own, Mikaela spoke calmly to the yellow 'bot watching them curiously. "My human designation is Mikaela and my twin's Samuel. Who are you?"

-:-.-:-


	8. Mirage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'No one ever returns from the battlefields alive.'

He still remembered for some reason beyond his comprehension the shadows that would fall across the face of his history instructor as the mech would almost hesitantly begin to speak of the wars that had ravaged their planet even before his own conception. Vorns would pass before he would come to understand the reason for those shadows, and even more still before he finally gained enlightenment about a simple remark his instructor had once made.

 

'No one ever returns from the battlefields alive.'

 

Oh how he'd laughed when the memory had flitted through his processor like a leaf would float across the ground driven by the fall wind behind him. But his gaiety had been short lived, falling prey to the somber understanding that had slammed into him with the subtlety of a plasma blast. Lying in the med bay as he waited for his turn to be repaired, he'd stared at the mech fluid staining his hands with a shade of blue not his own.

 

Sometimes he wished that he couldn't remember as well as he could. Sometimes, sometimes in the dark solace that the night provided to him he wished that he could forget the faces of those he had sent to the Matrix. That he could forget the looks of horror and resignation that would cross the faces of those designated as his victims at the moment he would step from the shadows he used to conceal himself.


	9. Judgment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the very end of the path that choices lead to he sits and thinks of all the events in his life that have led him to where he is. At the very end of that path it is the thought of sunshine and wind blowing over him that gives him strength.

He was one of the condemned. One of those upon whom judgment had been passed by those pretentious mechs who pretended to be so far above him so as to be capable of passing judgment in a fair and neutral manner. He was condemned for his choices and for those choices he would die. In 38 breems he would step out for the last time from his cell and would be allowed to watch as the sun's rays caressed the newly rebuilt buildings that would last only long enough for another uprising to topple them back to the ground. He would watch as glistening golden red rays of sunshine caused pristine metal sheeting to gleam as the cheers and calls for his deactivation swelled to a crescendo. For all they pretended to cling to their pretty morals and lofty standards they would prove to be as bloodthirsty and unforgiving as any found in his own faction with those who had once been their leaders coming to visit him to plead with him to admit to the crimes being laid against him in exchange for mercy and clemency.

 

Cuffs around his wrists buzzing as he snorted and leaned his elbows onto his knees a wry smile flitted across his lips as the shadows of his cell deepened the angular planes of his frame. Plead guilty to the crimes and have his life spared… If there were any charges that could truly be classified as crimes he might allow himself to consider it but he would not allow his choices and beliefs to be demeaned by the act of calling them crimes simply so that he might spend the remainder of his function inside of a cramped cell with no chance of ever feeling the wind brushing softly against his frame while the sun's rays warmed him. His actions would only be crimes if his reasons had been anything other than what they had been and still were.

 

What was killing the planet he called home were those that were meant to care for it, and those who had placed their trust in the wrong mechs; believing that their trust would be rewarded with true prosperity rather than the skilled facade that had begun to crumble at the end as unrest and dissension began to chip at the foundation. While the slow decay of his planet had not been caused by his actions or his choices the doubts and reservations had lingered as he watched the resentment build in pale blue optics. Those had disappeared once they had lost and he had begun to realize with a heavy dread threatening to extinguish his Spark that in spite of all that they had done that even their sacrifices were to be in vain and that was what would truly haunt him as he ascended those stairs to the waiting executioner.

 

Casting a quick glance at his chronometer he stiffened as he realized that he had only kliks left before they would come for him. Standing from where he'd been seated on the berth throughout the recharge cycle as he'd been unable to recharge his back strut was straight with the tremors running through his frame kept hidden from view. Pulled roughly from his cell by the guards sent to retrieve him he caught his balance and refused to react to the pain of having his delicate wings slammed against the wall as he was forced forward. Reaching the door leading outside to the place designated for his execution he took a calming intake through his vents and tilted his chin defiantly. Ruby optics glittering as he stepped out into the pale morning sun he met the optics of his wing mates and felt the tension bleed from his frame. He was condemned. He would die on that platform today but he would die with a clear conscience knowing that he did not betray himself by pleading for clemency. Shaking himself free from his guards Thundercracker ascended the stairs of the executioner's platform with only the regret that they had not been able to save Cybertron.


	10. Don't Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some things that should never be forgotten but are. There are things that should be seen but aren't because of the self-induced blindness.

"Is everything going to change or are you going to let it stay the same?"

 

His words hung in the air around them like invisible weights hanging on their backs as he suddenly found himself the sole focus of those bright blue gazes. Hunching his shoulders and tucking his head in closer to his body in a manner not unlike that of a startled turtle he watched with bated breath while the ground quivered from the movement towards him. "Will what stay the same, Samuel?" Telling himself that his stomach was not allowed to make a revolt against him at the deep, steady tones of the leader he respected washed over him, Sam looked up. Feeling the sweat beading on his forehead while his fingers twitched before he shoved them into his pockets he swallowed hard against the sudden feeling of dryness in his mouth.

 

"Your government." Why, oh why, had he thought this was a good idea? Who the hell had even given his mouth the okay to open before consulting his brain? "Is it—Are you—I mean—you know?" From the looks on everyone's faces he gets the idea that no, they don't know and for a moment he considers shutting up but then the feeling comes back. The same feeling that pushed him into asking his question in the first place; the question that he'd thought of as he sat there reading the two quotes assigned to him for his Western Civ essay. "I gotta know if you guys ever get back to Cybertron. If you guys ever manage to get the Allspark to wake up enough to the point where going to Cybertron isn't a death sentence what are you guys gonna do? Are you gonna go back to the way that things were before?"

 

And then…

 

"Cause if that's what you're gonna do then I gotta tell you now that that is one of the stupidest plans in the whole history of stupid plans and I know stupid plans." He can't stop himself now. He's said so much already that he might as well just finish saying everything that he's been building up in his mind this whole time before he loses his courage. This isn't something that should be kept quiet out of some kind of weird respect because he's  _seen it._  He's  _felt it_. " **Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it**."

 

"Samuel what are you—?"

 

"This war started as a rebellion, Optimus." Sam says as the tension flows out of his body as the rays of the setting sun illuminate the red and blue paint of the mech standing before him. His eyes trace the flames that seem to shimmer with the red-orange light of the sunset behind them. "I might not have everything that the Allspark gave me sorted out yet and I probably won't ever have it all sorted out but the point is that this," and he waves his hands in the general direction of the mechs surrounding them, "all of this is pointless if you're gonna go back to something that didn't work in the first place. People aren't born for the simple purpose of rebelling, Optimus. There has to be a reason, a purpose. Something that they believe in so much that they're willing to die fighting for it because the alternative is so much worse than dying and when dying is a better alternative then something's wrong."

 

"Samuel is this about Megatron's words to you?"

 

"No!" The denial is out before he can stop it and before he can actually think and piece together the feelings that are swirling around inside of him like a whirlpool that he'll be caught up in. "And yes. Is he right? Are you going to go back to a government that didn't work? Are you seriously going to go back to a system that caused your Lord High Protector to turn traitor and betray you all because he couldn't stand watching what was going on around him?"

 

"The government was not responsible for Megatron's actions." Optimus replied his optics dimming as he spoke. "Megatron alone is responsible for his actions."

 

"I didn't say that Megatron wasn't responsible Optimus. What I'm saying is that maybe you've held your government on a pedestal for so long that you've forgotten that they are just like you. That they can and have made mistakes like you have." Sam bit out through the frustration gathering in his chest. " **People crushed by law, have no hopes but from power. If laws are their enemies, they will be enemies to laws; and those who have much to hope and nothing to lose, will always be dangerous**. You can see what's wrong with human society so easily and yet you can't see what's gone so wrong with yours."

**Author's Note:**

> Judy really does scare me sometimes.


End file.
